


Road Trip

by HostisHumaniGeneris



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Monsters, Other, Side Effects, Transformation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:22:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28727283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HostisHumaniGeneris/pseuds/HostisHumaniGeneris
Summary: They'd made it out of Raccoon alive, at least.  That was supposed to be the hard part of this.  However, with zero backup, zero plans, zero resources, and a high likelihood that plenty of powerful actors have plans for them, Carlos, Tyrell, and Jill might find what comes afterwards to be just as hard.Especially because that vaccine?  It had side effects.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Road Trip

The highway stretched ahead, gray asphalt with faded lines down the middle. He turned down the volume of the radio, biting his tongue as the Beach Boys sang about girls and surfing. As opposed to that other song of theirs, about surfing and girls. And cars.

That was the soundtrack of the drive. Girls, cars, and surfing.

Because out of all the various cassette tapes in the van, that was the one nobody felt strongly enough to veto. Frankly, after yet another cheerful ballad about girls in bikinis, he was ready to chuck it out the window and try some other tape. He bit his tongue and kept his hands at ten and two. 

Apparently Tyrell tapped out first. Heh, guess that made him the winner. “Mind if I check the radio?”

Carlos nodded barely, his foot light on the gas, made sure he was doing the speed limit. Driving a stolen van, as _probably_ wanted fugitives, with a cargo space full of firearms, explosives, and… other weapons, he really did not want to get pulled over.

Static and feedback as Tyrell twisted the dial back and forth, zeroing in on an FM station after between static and more static. “…estimates of the death toll continue to rise…”

Something thudded behind them, and Jill let out a groan.

“…Congressional inquiry is…”

The rapid fire incompressibility as Tyrell switched stations one at a time, lingering on long enough to get a sentence or two, only lingering if they came to a station on commercial break. Carlos’s hands tightened on the wheel as a medley of reporters or DJs gave solemn proclamations. A televangelist declared what happened to Raccoon as God’s punishment for something that was drowned out by a howl behind them.

Beach Boys singing about California Giiiiirls wasn’t so bad, as it was.

“I didn’t figure anybody’d be playing music around here.” Carlos said. He half turned to ask if Jill knew a good rock station, because he was an idiot like that. He turned back and kept his eyes on the road, glad he didn’t ask the stupid question and get the fact that whatever Jill’s favorite radio station was, it was a goddamn crater right now.

“Wanted to see if we could get some news.” Tyrell said. Oh, they had got news alright. None that anyone in the car wanted to listen to right now. Grimacing as he shifted back, relaxing against the upholstery, Tyrell added “Thought they might say something about a manhunt or dragnet. For Umbrella employees.”

“Don’t think they’d tell us ‘Caution, Roadblocks Ahead’.” Carlos said. Running into the police was an absolute worst-case scenario. He had no clue if they were already on a database—he figured Tyrell _might_ be. Umbrella recruited for the UBCS from stockades and prisons, and Murphy was a multiple murderer… of assholes who deserved it, but still. He had no clue what exactly Tyrell had done before the unit. 

And again, packed in a stolen van, with everything here? Getting pulled over would get very, very unexplainable. And very, very ugly right quick.

Hands on the wheel, eyes on the road.

He was unconsciously singing along to _California Girls_ , when something at the side of the road caught his eye and he perked up. 

“Is the gas tank on my side or yours?” Carlos asked, looking at the sign on the side of the road. GAS. He’d kept an eye on the side of the road when he noticed they were starting to run low, and that sign was a godsend—after a dozen billboards advertising adult superstores, the Holy Bible, and a casino, seeing a sign for gas was a sign he hadn’t completely lost it and was hallucinating.

“Mine.” Tyrell said.

“Yours.” Jill said. After a long pause, she added. “Carlos’s.”

Great.

Jill was right. Which they learned when Carlos pulled into the station, parked, got out, walked around the front of the van, through the space between Tyrell’s side and the pumps, and noticed that there was no gas tank on that side. A hasty jog back the driver’s side and an awkward circle around the Stagla, and then he walked up to the station to pay.

He quickly walked down the aisles, trying to look inconspicuous as he grabbed two boxes of prepackaged snack cakes and a six pack of generic brand Cola from some beat-up looking refrigerators at the back of the store. A news report on the radio was giving up-to-date information about the destruction of Raccoon City, along with a statement from an ‘Umbrella Spokesman’. As Carlos wrapped up his hunt, he turned and approached the register. A short, balding man at the register looked at him, shifting his eyes to the newspaper when he noticed Carlos approaching. His hands went below the counter.

What was the significance?

Well, Carlos was a foot taller than the guy, looking quite few years younger. Maybe the guy was taking him for a robber? Maybe he thought something was fishy, and had noticed Carlos’s elite driving skills in the parking lot. Maybe…

The man rang Carlos up without incident, muttering something noncommittal about it being a quiet day. Not a lot of people on the road. Carlos said something equally noncommittal.

Neither of them mentioned current events.

Carlos, supplies in hand left, crossing over to where Tyrell was standing in front of the van, map spread out on the hood. He leaned heavily on the hood, obviously hurting. Carlos shrugged and asked “What’s the plan?”

“The plan? The plan was to get a vaccine to the government and stop Raccoon from blowing up.” Tyrell said. His lips twitched like he was trying to force a smile, then he gave up. Carlos leaned against the hood, back to the driver’s compartment, looking at the empty roadway. Nobody was around to hear, and it didn’t look like the gas station attendant was looking at them. “Now? We’re outlaws. Head for the border to escape the Law.”

“Don’t know if we should keep these wheels.” Carlos said. “I got… a feeling. Gas station guy seemed suspicious.”

“Guy probably thought you were going to stick him up. We’re out in the sticks, and you’re not a local.” Tyrell said, pushing his glasses up on the nose. “And honestly, we _could_ use the cash. Should’ve suggested it.”

“Didn’t want to suggest the robbery in front of the cop, huh?” It was a reflexive joke, and Carlos realized what a fucking stupid thing to say it was the second after the grin crossed his lips. He twisted, looking into the van. Jill was laying low, he had no clue if she heard. “So… ditch the car?”

“Ditch the car, ditch the clothes…” Tyrell brushed his hand over his bare shoulder. They’d torn off the sleeves and tore the tags out, and did everything they could to make sure there wasn’t a stich of Umbrella logo on their clothing. Tyrell leaned in close, and barely audibly said “…ditch the…”

“No.”

“…Carlos.” He pulled away. There were things that they _needed_ to figure out, and yeah, _that_ was a big issue. But well… it didn’t feel like a safe subject to talk about right here and now. Again, Carlos wondered what exactly Tyrell was up to before he was with Umbrella.

“Get you medical attention?” Carlos tried to redirect.

“Know any back alley doctors?” Tyrell asked, straightening up slowly. 

“Maybe back in Sao Paolo.” 

“Then as far as we know I have a few bruises and will be fine with a few days’ rest.” Tyrell said. He took a deep breath. “So… do we head for Canada, or Mexico? Or…”

“Hm. Jill’s from around here.” Carlos said, looking at the tangle of roads on the map. He wasn’t even sure where they currently were on it, much less where to go to get out of dodge. “Maybe we should… we’ll talk it over with her later. Come up with a plan.”

They were _fucked_.

They were definitely cut off from any aid—at best their employers, assuming they knew nothing more than Tyrell and Carlos were UBCS agents, would give zero fucks. Assuming that Umbrella knew that they had found out way too much? They would kill them. And if they knew who else they were with…

So they had no official support from the people who sent them to Raccoon.

They had two M4 Carbines, a couple of handguns of various makes, a Milkor Grenade Launcher half full. A ten-year old van with tinted windows. Some cash. And two boxes of snack cakes and six cans of cola. That was the full extent of the resources they had to accomplish a plan they didn’t have.

Actually five cans, as there was a hissing click as Tyrell wrestled one can out of the sixpack and opened it. Without another word, Tyrell gingerly pushed himself away from the hood of the van, folding the map as he opened the door. He continued to look at the half-folded map as Carlos went over to the side of the van, planted his haul of junk food on top of the car, and began pumping gas, running his thoughts over the lack of any idea on what to do as he watched numbers lazily tick up on the pumps meter. When he finished up, Carlos returned the nozzle to its place grabbed the snacks, then settled in to the sticky, faux-leather driver's seat seat. He tossed the cakes in the back and held the soda up until she grabbed it from him.

There was a _crunching_ sound, and then Jill muttered "Warm."

“God, you couldn’t find some in a cooler?” Tyrell complained, taking another sip. 

"That's where they were." Carlos said.

And they were on the road again. Tyrell took another swig of the soda, held it out ahead of him, and said. “Okay, you definitely should’ve knocked the place over.”

* * *

They didn’t end up ditching the car, mainly because what were they options? They needed something big but inconspicuous, and one that would hopefully not be missed until they were long gone. They resolved to maybe swipe the plates off another car and switch with theirs, for the time being. Until then, they drove until it was dark, past more signs for churches, porn, restaurants, gas, and casinos.

The motel they picked was a fair distance from the last thing they saw that could be said to be a town. They got there late, and the parking lot was mostly empty. Checking in was relatively painless, as a dead-eyed woman took down a fake name Carlos said with zero interest, gave him the keys, and instructed him to be out by noon.

Fine by him.

Carlos and Tyrell came in. Tyrell claimed the bed closest to the window, and promptly set himself down on it on it. Carlos he swept the room first. It might be paranoia, but he’d seen a movie about a crazy motel owner spying on his guests. Several movies about it in fact. And while they were more than capable of dealing with the clerk lady coming after them with a butcher knife, if they were spied on… things would get _bad_.

Satisfied that they weren’t being watched, Carlos opened the door to the Motel room and scanned the parking lot. He saw nothing but darkened windows, a few doors with “Do not disturb” tags. He even did a circuit of the little sidewalk outside of the rooms, lighting up a cigarette he’d gotten from the center console of the van as he scanned the motel for cameras. Coast clear as he could make it—which was not clear enough to not feel like this was a bad idea, he walked over to the back of the van—he had backed in to the spot right in front of the door, and wrapped twice. Something _thudded_ on the other side, and he opened the door. 

Slate grey eyes met his and then a massive form rushed out of the van.

Jill practically bowled him over as she ran to the Motel room, bare feet slapping against stone until it reached carpet. Carlos quickly leaned in, tossing a blanket over the military firepower, and locked the van up, before following Jill into the hotel room.

She’d claimed the other bed, apparently.

Sitting, hunched over as she was, she was still big enough to almost be at eye level with him. She rasped as her shoulders rose and fell rhythmically underneath the hotel comforter she’d tossed over her big frame. Uneven, gray skin seemed stretched almost to burst over a much too muscular frame. 

Carlos turned, making sure the window shade was drawn.

Then he positioned himself standing between the feet of the two beds. Tyrell propped himself up on his elbows. They muttered something about what to do next, and Jill had just as few ideas as they did. She seemed out of it when they started, kept her head down, muttered monosyllables. Tyrell seemed to think that was good enough, and Carlos had to be an idiot.

He was out of ideas. He was out of ideas a few days back when the dead were walking. Since then, he’d been running on impulse, trying t o get _away_ from Raccoon without thinking to much about it. Now that they were holed up for the night, they had to figure out what was next.

What was “next” was not a happy subject for Jill.

What was in the past wasn’t, either.

And he might not’ve gotten the hint when she shifted her gave from the floor to him, mainly because he wasn’t looking her in the eye, either. But when she stood up and took a step towards him… he quickly agreed that it was late and they needed to rest.

For a split second, part of him really regretted not bringing that grenade launcher in to the hotel room. And then Jill let out a massive sigh and collapsed back on the bed, looking at the ceiling. She grumbled “I don’t know where we go from here.”

He seemed to be great at making things worse.

So, with nobody in the mood to say anything, and definitely not in the mood to watch the news, Carlos made the executive decision to turn off the lights. Turn off the lights in in the room with the monster in it.

He was made of brilliant ideas.

The night passed very slowly, and not at all restfully. He decided to sleep on the floor, and the night was a struggle to try and fail to get comfortable, and to not think about his roommates. By two in the morning, Carlos sat on the floor, back to the door. Tyrell snored, which meant he was asleep. And that drowned out the rasping wheeze of Jill—admittedly, she always sort of did that now, which meant he couldn’t be sure she was asleep or not.

Maybe it was a side effect of that vaccine. All that work in finding it for Jill, and as it turns out it saved her in the worst way possible. Maybe the vaccine didn’t work and she’d always end up like this—there were things sort of like her in tubes in the Umbrella lab underneath the hospital. Big things with corrugated gray hides.

What was she?

She knew what she was, sort of, if the stream of conscious rant she had when they met up again in the bowels of the NEST facility was anything to go on. Tyrant. Tyrant. Tyrant. The giant, naked, clawed berserker holding him and shaking him while rambling about the vaccine was _not_ really in the mood to explain what a “Tyrant” was, but he could connect the dots. When Tyrell stumbled between them and tried to calm her down, and he realized the thing was Jill.

She had dropped him the moment he said her name, and stopped ranting. The rest of the time in Raccoon City was a lot of confused screaming and explosions. There were so many loose ends—Nicholai was dead, but did he manage to alert Umbrella to what happened with Jill? If so…

“Hey Carlos?”

His head snapped up, at the giant, pale monolith sitting on the far side of the room. Jill wrapped up in her blanket. “Yeah? Can’t sleep.”

“No. You?”

“Not with Tyrell’s snoring.” He forced a smile at that. He was used to sleeping set to all sorts of noises, in all sorts of terrible accommodations. Animals, gunfire, crying. So Tyrell wasn’t the reason he wasn’t able to sleep. Nor were the couple a few rooms down, screaming at each other. “What’s up?”

He shut his eyes and tried to imagine the impossibly attractive cop he met less then a week ago. Instead of the giant monstrosity with jagged teeth, too much muscle and bone for its skin, an irregular Mohawk of thinned hair—not enough for its big skull.

The cop and the monster were the same, though.

He considered asking her for more details on what she was—she had to know more than he did. But… he had no idea just how far to push her. She _seemed_ to be herself—definitely not as put together as she was when they first met, but… she had plenty of reasons to be stressed. But he didn’t want to see how long it would take to get her angry.

So he kept his mouth shut.

“Just… thank you for…” She said, after a pause long enough for Carlos to wonder if she had just been checking to see if he was awake. The giant form shuddered a bit, then added. “…trying. I, you and Tyrell… Mikhail. You really did everything you could.”

Everything they could ended with a city being nuked, and the one survivor they managed to try to shepherd through it all being turned into some horrible monster. They _might_ have had a vaccine—Carlos kept it in a pocket of his cargo pants, but as it stood, he had no clue what would happen if they turned it over to the government.

Wasn’t going to save Raccoon City.

Might make the government try to make more Jills.

Realizing his train of thought was distracting him. He nodded and said “No problem.”’

He did his best, they all did. And it was not enough. Now they were stuck aimlessly driving with a plan to skip a border, except which border, and absolutely no idea where to go from there. No problem at all.

The couple yelled. Tyrell snored.

And they were silent for the rest of the night.


End file.
